


In the Interest of Fairness

by bankedleft



Category: Marvel
Genre: BOXES, Fourth Wall, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Madcap isn't actually in it, madcap angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 02:57:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7024561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bankedleft/pseuds/bankedleft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deadpool is dealing with the loss of Madcap and the only one who notices is Peter Parker. He can't get Madcap out of his head, but he doesn't really want to either. The only force of nature strong enough to get him on the right path is Spider-Man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Moving on from Madcap

**Author's Note:**

> About Madcap; Spoilers! His story arc with Deadpool is amazing. NEED TO KNOW: Madcap has an amazing healing factor so when he was blown up along with Deadpool, he lived on inside of Wade's head for a long time. He could interact with Wade through a white text box. When Madcap finally got out of Wade's head and regrew his own body, he was so upset by the whole situation that he tried to kill Deadpool, and ultimately killed himself. 
> 
> Basically, they have a legitimate break up. I wanted to write the first part of this where Wade tries to deal with his relationship and loss of Madcap. And the second part is him falling in love with Peter.
> 
> [Madcap speaks in these] ALSO, [White Box] can hear the narrator, and Deadpool can too because the box can, if that makes sense.

A few miles outside the city, Deadpool sits on top of a building with his legs swinging off the edge of the roof. It is mostly empty for the night so he picked this place to wait for the cover of darkness. He stares out across the darkness to focus on the city in the distance. His night will end in the city, probably in the dirtiest corner of it, but he has to wait until it gets later before he can go.

There is literal glow coming from New York. It feels special in some way to see it because, well, it’s glowing. Glowing is magical. It’s the kind that comes from all cities. In reality, the vents in the sidewalks spit out smoke or steam and then light from neon signs lights up the smoke and eventually the whole city is in a glowing haze.

[Or like exhaust from a car mixes with the streetlamp, that makes it hazy, too.]

“Yeah, it’s more like a haze than a glow, isn’t it,” Deadpool adds.

From the streets the glow is obvious, but it is even more dazzling from a distance. From the street it’s like the city has a ceiling made of a dark blue fabric stretched from skyscraper to rooftop to tower to block out the stars. Being outside in a city isn’t really being outside at all. It’s like being in a dome. The glow actually takes away whatever special-ness was there.

“Nothing is special about a city. I already knew that.”

[What’s _really_ special is when there are no lights at all.]

The magic of New York doesn’t come from the city itself, it comes from the people in it. A dome of pollution and light captures all the magic and holds it in there. Every day a super hero saves someone’s life, a scientist creates a super formula to enhance the human form, a mutant discovers their mutation in a blaze of glory, a sorcerer casts an impossible spell. There is magic in New York and it doesn’t exist in the concrete.

“I just remembered! I don’t care about this at all,” Deadpool loudly whispers, then adds speaking, “It’s still a little bit early but I’m tired of this view. Time to go!”

He drops from the building and falls to the ground landing in a crouch and rolling out of it to begin a light jog.

“HA! How many stories do you think I just jumped?” Deadpool asks while looking back over his shoulder, “Hard to tell cause that big building is no library. No stories to it.”

Deadpool doesn’t expect an answer and he doesn’t get one. He just continues to jog to the city. However, he has no plans to jog all the way to New York. He jogs right up to the edge of the highway and sticks out his hand right into the traffic. He snatches, or rather is snatched by a semi truck which he climbs to the top of.

Every second that the truck moves farther into the city the sky gets brighter with the haze. Deadpool enters New York City feeling quite apathetic towards it. There is nothing here but a job to do.

“I’ve sat on a lot of things,” Deadpool says while sitting crisscross on top of the semi, “This makes the Top 8 for sure. The #1 slot has gotta be that girl from—“ Deadpool’s rambling is cut off here, but he continues talking in such a manner until minutes later when he rolls off the truck, legs still crossed.

He lands in the gutter and picks himself up, brushing himself off and rubbing his hands together. There are people on the street and his entrance did not go unnoticed. However it was thoroughly ignored. There are always freaks in New York. A guy in a red suit and a mask was no a surprise to them. He could probably walk without his mask on and be completely ignored. No one would even stare.

[As if your ugly zombie look would go ignored.]

New York is the epicenter of weirdness and the extraordinary. People know to mind their own business. They keep to themselves and don’t judge harshly of people who are different from them. Acceptance starts here. Deadpool could settle down here, abandon the mask and live normally.

[All of that is horse shit. Straight ass. No way.]

In New York, anyone can become a new person. People find themselves here, create themselves, explore themselves.

[Yeah, explore how people many can vomit at the sight of that face.]

“I’d love to explore myself if ya know what I’m saying,” Deadpool adds, walking down allies and darting between buildings all this time until he find the car he means to follow. “Anyways, while you two were going on about romance and fresh starts I found our target.”

[The only thing you are good at is this, so do it right, get paid, get out.]

“Working on that. Now shush because we have to set the scene,” Deadpool says while crouched next to a dumpster.

Across the street the car has parked. He can see a man in a suit, a business suit not a super suit, and Deadpool watches him as he leaves his car with the valet and enters the skyscraper. The building probably has a name on it, maybe on the other side. His office is supposed to be on the 38th floor. Either way, nobody goes into their office this late at night, which means his target is totally evil and deserves to be sniped dead at his desk. That doesn’t really matter because Deadpool has his orders anyways.

He begins his climb on the building he is crouched next to. Once on top of the five story building he stares up at the skyscraper. He doesn’t even bother checking if he has the right angle to take the shot from here. He jumps on to the wall behind this building and climbs to the top of that building. He is now 10 stories up, but farther away. Still no good for the shot. He has a good view of the office window from here, but the line of sight is too steep to see into the room.

“I don’t wanna go in there and do this myself,” he whines out loud while reaching his hand behind his head to grab his katana, “I was hoping to just shoot him from out here. Good thing I brought Bea and Arthur with me!”

As he finishes this sentence he reaches with his other hand to grab the other katana. He doesn’t unsheathe them, just lazily places his hands on the hilts. His posture is slouchy and relaxed, but standing with his arms raised above his head to grasp the katanas is a purposeful show of weaponry.

“I was never great at baseball but I bet I could chunk a grenade through his window from here. No way to confirm the kill though,” he says while turning his back to the skyscraper in a pacing display of indecisiveness. His hands are still locked onto his katanas.

[What is going on?]

Deadpool continues to pace and mumble about his various options for killing his target. He uses the expanse of the roof top to pace and to search.

[Are we stalling? Did you hear something that I didn’t? How would that even work?]

Standing Captain Morgen style with his foot on a vent on top of the building he can finally see what he caused this tangent in the first place. There is a person on the side of a building diagonal to the one he is on. He thought he saw them slink there, but wasn’t sure. Now he is sure. Well, probably sure. There is no silhouette to see, only the reflection of the threading of a suit like his. He is sure enough to know that he is in for fight, a real one.

He knows they can hear him, so he keeps talking about his target. Truth be told, he does need to weigh his options for the hit. He takes one hand off a katana and prepares for the stunt he is about to pull. All the while he continues to ramble on about his assassination options. The words don’t matter, it’s mostly free association at this point.

“Grenades would get people looking at me. And people don’t tend to appreciate my work. Probably best if I,” Deadpool trails off as he takes in a huge breath, “just shot him.”

At this, Deadpool pulls out two pistols from his holsters and aims them both toward the person watching him. He fires two shots at where he can best judge that the person is at and then points one gun towards the 38th floor. The gunshots had brought his target to the window and so he fires again. He is almost sure he nailed the target, but he has no idea about the other guy on the roof and he doesn’t have time to find out.

Deadpool runs toward the street and chooses a jumping path of the most resistance, falling onto a balcony a few stories below, then onto another balcony, then onto the sidewalk. He runs across the street and into the skyscraper. He holsters his guns as he darts through the lobby to the elevator. He pushes the button and waits patiently for the doors to open. The staff in the lobby is shocked into silence.

As the elevator doors open, the night guard picks up his phone, probably to call the police.

“That’s a better choice than trying to stop me, matey. Oh! And, if someone follows me in here, tell them I’m not here, okay big guy?” Deadpool suggests. The night guard doesn’t respond.

Deadpool steps into the elevator and hums along to the music as he ascends. He had to shoot at the mystery person. No choice.

“I know what they were waiting for! As soon as I took the shot, they were going to stop me. I didn’t shoot at them to kill them, I shot at them to distract them so I could take my shot,” Deadpool decided.

[They probably were going to stop you. Now they are probably dead.]

“No way, I’m a good shot, but I’m pretty sure that I missed them. I didn’t here a peep out of them!”

[Getting shot makes someone peep, usually.]

“Exactly. I’m sure whoever I took two shots at is fine. This guy however is going to be super un-alive,” Deadpool says as he steps out of the elevator. As he enters the office of his target he is greeted by none other than—

“Spider-Man! Well, what the hell! Good to see ya, Spidey!” Deadpool exclaims.

As he speaks the other hero crouches in the broken window and stares down at the body on the floor, covered in broken glass and blood from a gun shot wound to his chest.

“What— Oh no! There has been an accident!” Deadpool says in fake alarm as he waves his arms in shock, “I’d better take a crime scene photo like a good detective would.”

Deadpool pulls out his phone and snaps a picture of his target and sends it in a text message. He should have his money by tomorrow morning. Meanwhile, he has to deal with the police, who aren’t here yet, and with Spider-Man, who is now blocking his exit.

“Deadpool, come with me,” Spider-Man says in a steady voice.

This option is not disagreeable. Leaving with Spider-Man would cover his tracks best with the police and he could handle what ever this spider threw at him. Spider-Man doesn’t use any weapons and Deadpool literally carries an arsenal with him.

“Okay! Where are we going?” Deadpool asks.

Spider-Man eye’s widen at the response.

[I don’t think he was expecting compliance.]

“People say I never fail to surprise them,” Deadpool responds.

“I’m going to take you to a rooftop where you can’t try to shoot anyone, then we are going to have a conversation,” Spider-Man says, testing the waters.

“Ha! If you want me to do a hit for you, I’m not. You gotta handle your own dirty work,” Deadpool says while stepping closer to the hero anyways.

Spider-Man slings a web into Deadpool’s chest and pulls him out of the window as Spider-Man jumps into nothingness. Then he shoots another web and begins swinging from building to building with a screaming merc hanging from his belt. Deadpool clings onto the web he is attached to like his life depends on it. They swing past the five block radius that the police will soon have set up and finally Spider-Man lands gracefully on a rooftop while Deadpool slams into the roof like a ton of bricks.

“Spider-Bro, I’m going to forgive you for that. Only because I shot at you,” Deadpool says as he stands up.

Spider-Man is already standing on the other side of the building. Preparing for a fight, to get yelled at, stomped on, whatever. Deadpool is ready for it all. But Spider-Man starts slow, calmly.

“Deadpool, you are freaking me out,” Spider-man says deliberately.

“How? I’m not even doing anything yet!” Deadpool says, exasperated. Banter before the final fight is fine with him, but give him some credit. If Spider-Man wants to be freaked out, Deadpool can do that.

“Do you know where you are?” Spider-Man asks, saying each word slowly. He talks like he is calming a wild animal, but Deadpool isn't even acting that agitated or strange.

“I’m on a roof, in the big apple, on earth?” Deadpool says, completely thrown off by Spider-Man’s reaction to him. Deadpool usually only has conversations using violence because stabs wounds get the message across pretty clearly. He isn't getting the message here.

“And what are you doing in New York?” Spider-Man asks. He still stands on the other side of the roof. As an after thought, Spider-Man shoots a web and sticks Deadpool’s foot to the ground.

“Oh, bondage! I’m not actually here for that, but I can make room in my schedule! I’m here to make a hit, which I did. Third one this month!”

“Deadpool, I’ve been watching you this month,”

“Oh, Spidey, I never pegged you for a stalker!”

“and if you made any hits I would have stopped you,”

“Yeah, right. You didn’t tonight, baby boy!”

“Thats because there was no one there.”

Deadpool doesn’t understand what that means, so he continues, “You didn’t stop me from shooting that guy… because there was no guy?”

“I don’t know what’s going on, Deadpool. There was no one in that building besides the night guard,” Spider-Man says, still on edge.

“I just, um, was just messing with you back there!” Deadpool responds, clawing for some sense of truth, “I don’t know what you mean? I really don’t know what you are saying.”

“I have no reason to lie to you, Deadpool. I’ve been watching you and something really isn’t right. I mean, I’ve never seen anything like it… Are you going to shoot me?”

Deadpool looks down at his hands, a gun in each one. He checks the mag, one bullet fired from this one. The other mag is missing two. All the bullets are accounted for. He definitely shot that guy. How does Spidey say he didn’t take down his target? He was right there.

[It doesn’t matter what he says. Lure him closer.]

Deadpool holds out his guns to Spider-Man.

“No, I shot three bullets. Two at you, one at the guy. Look for yourself,” Deadpool says, his fake laugh falls flat onto the rooftop.

Spider-Man crosses the rooftop to take the weapons from him. And Deadpool hoped for this. When Spider-Man reaches for the guns he will be close enough for Deadpool to unleash whatever hell he can on him. But now that he is within an arm’s reach away, Deadpool loses his resolve.

“Stay the fuck away from me,” Deadpool warns, suddenly on edge.

Spider-Man stops his progress. While raising his hands but not backing away he says, “I’m not coming any closer. Look, you need to come with me and get whatever mind control that is happening sorted.

Deadpool continues to explain himself, “Oh, you don’t know what you are dealing with, baby boy. You weren’t there. I was and I look different everyday but the mask doesn’t change. So I wear it cover my face and my ears but I can still hear Madcap even though I can’t see straight.”

“I noticed. You—whoa!” Spider-Man lunges at Deadpool as the merc pulls the trigger to the gun he pressed to his own temple. Deadpool falls to the ground in a splatter of blood. His one leg held up at a weird angle since the webbing was still keeping his foot stuck to the ground.

~~~~~~

The sun is up now and it is streaming into the large room that Deadpool is lying in. There are huge windows at the top of the building and the floor he is lying on is hardwood. He sits up quickly, hands handcuffed in his lap, and all his weapons gone.

“I’m in a gym,” Deadpool states, “And you took all my stuff.”

“You shot yourself in the middle of our conversation. I can’t let that happen again,” Spider-Man’s voice floats out from no where.

Deadpool stands and begins to pace the floor trying to hone in on where the voice is coming from while speaking to the hero, “I’d like all my gear back, and then I’d like to leave.”

“I can’t do that, Wade. I think someone is controlling your mind.” His voice is coming from somewhere above.

“Dude, stay out of this. Do you know who I am? I can’t even control my own mind!” The old gym has terrible acoustics. There is an echo, so he can’t tell where the voice is coming from. It’s bright in the gym from the windows, but the lights aren’t on so the ceiling is dark and Spider-Man could be anywhere up there.

“Was it a telepath? Someone like Cable? I don’t want you to hurt anyone, Wade.”

Deadpool stops walking and stops plotting. Every time he tries to fight Spider-Man he finds that he can’t. It’s not that he can’t, it’s that he doesn’t want to.

[He said the mission isn’t real.]

“I don’t know what’s real,” Deadpool admits. He looks up at the empty rafters and starts walking in meaningless circles again.

[Game over, bro. No one is even up there. None of this even happened.]

“Awe, man. I was excited to see Spider-Man again.”

[So excited that it became a huge delusion? Typical.]

“Why can I still hear you, Madcap?”

[Things will never be the same. I can’t leave you alone.]

“Are you making me go on fake missions?”

[I just want you to pay attention to me!]

“I can’t focus on anything else besides you! I’ve shot my brain so many times just to get you out. I don’t want you in there anymore!” Deadpool is truly becoming unhinged.

With every word he becomes more agitated. He screams one phrase and whispers the next. The abandoned high school bleachers quake from the vibrations of his stomping and yelling. He isn’t even that angry, it’s just all this time and energy being used up at once.

When he first got Madcap out of his head, he really missed his presence and he felt alone. Madcap wasn’t any better off being in the world though. Madcap found a way to kill himself and he did it without even thinking. Deadpool had to watch it happen and he felt like he lost something that day. When Madcap’s voice popped up again, it was welcome. Deadpool doesn’t remember when the voice changed to being horrible.

“Madcap is dead. I don’t hear anything,” he reminds himself.

[Yes, you do.]

“But why?”

[I’m never going to leave you alone.]

“I don’t want to be alone,” Deadpool admits.

[Then stop pushing me away, you idiot.]

“You aren’t Madcap. I am alone,” Deadpool remind himself.

[I’m the only one who will stay with you.]

He can’t tell Madcap that he doesn’t want him. He can’t tell Madcap that he’s too weird, too insane, too ugly, too dangerous to be loved. Because if Madcap is those things, Deadpool is too. If Deadpool doesn’t accept Madcap, then he can’t expect anyone to accept Deadpool. That’s why he still hears his voice. They might as well be the same person.

“I’m the only one who would have stayed with you,” Deadpool tells him.

[I never felt real pain until I met you.]

“I don’t want to hate you, Madcap. But you’re hurting me now.”

[You hurt me!]

“And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know, I really didn’t. When I hurt, you hurt too. It wasn’t my fault.”

[Why do you pretend to care about me now?]

“If I don’t care about you, then no one will. And if no one cares about you, then no one is going to care about me either,” Deadpool tells him.

[You’re doing it for yourself, not for me.]

“No, Madcap is dead. But I carry him around with me. Because no one else is around to miss him! But I might have truly fucking lost it now. I can’t keep you in my head like this. I’m killing people that aren’t real. I don’t have anywhere to live now, I’m alone all the time. I thought I had you, but I don’t. Not really.”

[Please, don’t leave me.]

“Is it really you, Madcap?” Deadpool pleads.

The white box does not respond.

“It isn’t you, Madcap. It’s not really you. Madcap is dead. I don’t want to hear him anymore,” Deadpool realizes.

The white box does not respond.

“Don’t ignore me now! Don’t pretend none of this happened!”

[You hurt me. You did this to me. I can’t even die and I’m dead because of you.]

“I’m so sorry. I wish it didn’t happen. It would be easier if we never met. If I had my guns I’d…” Deadpool pauses in middle of his breakdown. He doesn’t have his guns and his hands are handcuffed. This part is all real. His breakdown doesn’t have the chance to become a break through. His instincts return to him and his grip on reality strengthens again. In a calm and steady voice he calls out, “Spider-Man, I swear to Thor’s sweet ass. Forget everything you just heard.”

“You knew I was here, Deadpool. You didn’t have to have a complete mental breakdown in front of me.” His voice floats down from the ceiling. “I didn’t know about… I thought you were being manipulated.”

“Get these handcuffs off of me or I will take them off,” Deadpool threatens. He has broken bones to escape capture before and he will do it again.

Spider-Man falls through a stream of light on his way down from the ceiling which lights up the details of his suit. The threads at the seams reflect light, and the dark red and blue absorb it. He lands without noise at center court.

Spider-Man makes his way towards Deadpool, who stands patiently with his wrists held out.

“I didn’t know why you were acting that, honestly. I watched you killed three guys that weren’t there. I just wanted to help,” he says as he unlocks the cuffs and takes them from Deadpool. Before he can grab them, Deadpool takes them in hand, turns, and throws the handcuffs as hard as he can at the wall.

“Don’t you know it’s illegal to lock up cra-RAH-zy people, Spider-Child?” Deadpool spits, furious at the masked hero for bearing witness to this.

Spider-Man takes it all in stride and responds, “I’m sorry about handcuffing you, I thought someone was mind controlling you. And I was totally sure about it after you shot yourself. That’s why I took your guns. I’m not sorry about doing that. Or about taking you here. You need help, Deadpool.”

“Where are my guns? I’d like to leave and never come back, actually. And, would you mind telling me where we are so that I can make deliberately sure that I never return?” Deadpool says, stepping up to the smaller hero in a challenge. Deadpool stands a whole head taller than Spider-man, so he looks down at him as he speaks.

“Still in the ceiling. Of the gym. This is an old high school. It’s abandoned now, so you can scream and freak out all you want,” Spider-Man responds.

“As much as I want, huh? Is that all this is to you? Me throwing tantrum?” Deadpool says, stepping away from the judgement he feels pouring off of Spider-Man.

“I get it, Deadpool. I really do. I know Madcap is dead, I know it hurts losing people. I can’t imagine how close you guys were,” Spider-Man says, standing next to Deadpool with his palms out.

He scrunches up his forehead and that causes the hole in his mask from the bullet to fold over. He reaches his hand up to touch the torn fabric. Deadpool turns away from Spider-Man and rips the mask off, his shoulders heave with pure fury. He doesn’t feel angry. He doesn’t feel anything. Even with the mask off he doesn’t feel exposed or judged. But he is still furious.

He turns back around to face Spider-man. His eyes flick back and forth between the huge masked eyes in front of him.

He asks simply, “Is this real?”

“Yes. I just watched you have a conversation with a dead guy who isn’t real. Whatever he was saying to you wasn’t real. What you said back was real. Does that help?” Spider-man says.

“It’s never been this bad before. When I hear voices it’s always for a real reason. Madcap isn’t in my head anymore,” Deadpool says. Past Spider-Man he can see the bleachers of the gym. He walks past Spider-Man and stalks up a few sets of the bleachers before he sits down, then lays down. He sprawls across three sets of the stairs and lies still, eyes closed.

He keeps talking, “I knew Madcap’s voice wasn’t real but I really didn’t know those guys weren’t real. Spidey, I’m not well. I’ve shot myself at least 9 times that I can remember since he died.”

“I’m not a doctor, but that is too many times,” Spider-Man says while walking over to join Deadpool on the bleachers.

“This isn’t a fair game, right now,” Deadpool says, looking up at Spider-Man who is crouched on the bleacher above his head, “Tell me a secret. Settle the score. This emotional transaction is not complete until both parties share.”

Spider-Man stares down at Deadpool, his mask is not expressive. Deadpool’s expression is expectant.

“This is the high school that I went to,” Spider-Man says.

Deadpool stares up at him.

Spider-Man continues, “I met the first girl I ever loved here. When she died it was my fault. I don’t even feel anything anymore about it. I’ve loved again and I’ve lost again since then. It’s still the worst thing I ever did though.”

Spider-Man’s voice is steady and he doesn’t look at Deadpool as he speaks. From this angle Deadpool can see the seam of where his mask touches his shirt. He can see where his gloves stick to the plastic bleachers. The seams of his spandex still reflect the light like fishing line would.

“What I am dealing with is nothing like that,” Deadpool reminds Spider-Man.

“What happened to me happened a long time ago,” Spider-Man admits.

“Madcap was in my head for so long. He felt pain for the first time in my head. He felt _my_ pain. But he was horrible, Spidey. All that time spent in my head made him worse, he was a bad guy before but when he got out he worse. What does that say about me?” Deadpool begs, his eyes searching the mask above him. Deadpool quickly adds, “Don’t answer that.”

“You were hearing voices. Like a hallucination, not mind control. It says nothing about you, and I think,” Spider-man optimistically says, “that you can recover from this. You have a healing factor nobody else does. You can heal from this too.”

“I’m not going to miss him anymore. I just didn’t want to be alone,” Deadpool drops his eye contact and again stares into nothing as he speaks.

Spider-Man hesitates, and then he places a hand firmly on Deadpool’s shoulder and squeezes. “Look, you can still miss him. I’ve never heard of a relationship like that before. I can’t tell if you have survivors guilt or Stockholm syndrome or what. You make the rules on what you feel. I just want you to get over this psychosis.”

“Yeah, I’m guilty. I have guilt. He can’t even die, and he is dead because of me,” Deadpool says, wondering why this conversation has gone on so long. Nobody has ever cared enough to talk through this with him.

“Okay. When I thought it was mind control I wanted to help you. But now that I know it’s mental stuff, I’m still going to try to help you,” Spider-Man says while shifting his position so that he eye level with Deadpool.

“Why?” Deadpool asks, the question loaded.

“I watched you fight for a month against things that weren’t real and honestly it was terrifying. You are too good to be on the sidelines like this. You need to get your head on straight so you can rise up. I think you can do it,” Spider-Man replies being as honest as possible. Spider-Man doesn’t know Deadpool, he knows his real name is Wade Wilson, he knows he is amazingly skilled in combat, he knows he would rather fight with him than against him. He also knows that he cares, that he has loved like no one has ever loved, and lost in the same way. He knows that he struggles with guilt, reality, emotions, and people. He knows he hears voices. He knows that he can be good. Anyone that loves someone else that deeply has to be good. He doesn’t verbalize this, he just places a hand on Wade’s hand.

“I’ve always been a soldier. I always will be, I guess,” Deadpool sighs, but he breathes in deeply with a new sense of purpose, “Okie dokie, Spidey. You know just how batshit crazy I really am now. Therapy session is over.”

“Wait, do you think you’ll be better now?” Spider-Man asks, dropping his hand. Whatever moment they were having is over, apparently.

“Well yeah! With Spider-Man helping me. But seriously, don’t ever, EVER, ever ever, ever, evereverever mention this. To anybody. Ever,” Deadpool warns.

“Honestly, Wilson, you are so indescribable I'm not sure I could find the words to tell someone what happened here today,” Spider-Man replies.

“Um. Okay,” Deadpool says, unsure how to accept that… compliment? Instead he moves on, “Well what do we do now?”

"We make you to be the second best hero New York has ever seen. Second only to me," Spider-Man answers.


	2. This Can't Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Eliza Hamilton once said, "One week later I'm writing a letter nightly. Now my life gets better every letter that he writes me!" But in this case, they aren't writing letters, they are having nightly vigilantly hero-ism crash course sessions. Peter realizes that Deadpool can be a lot of things, and that Deadpool will never be some things. Wade also makes him feel 36 emotions at the same time, approximately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I was going to wrap this up in two chapters, but Peter thinks too much so writing this got a bit lengthy. I got about 2 more chapters worth of plot to wrap up, but I changed the chapter count on here to a ? because ?.

Spider-Man only returns about half of the weapons he took from Deadpool. It turns out that Wade hates being called Wade while he is being Deadpool, so when Peter calls Wade to tell him where to meet for their nightly patrol, he makes sure to call him Deadpool. During breaks or afterwards he calls him Wade, but when duty calls it calls for Deadpool, not Wade. And they do patrol together nightly. Spider-Man doesn’t work during the day, he tells Deadpool.

 

They spend the first hour of each night together, and Deadpool learns the rules and tricks from Spider-Man. Then the second hour they split up to cover more ground. Eventually they rendezvous somewhere and work together again for the rest of the night. But it was every night for a week that Deadpool worked nearly the entire night with Spider-Man, learning from him and taking all the lessons in stride. 

 

Deadpool’s ability to adapt shows itself as he learns an entirely new form of combat in about one day. Spider-Man trains him to capture people or to get them to cease and desist without using lethal force. You can’t sneak up on the perps with guns because they may startle and shoot on accident, he tells Deadpool. Never stick around too long because the cops don’t play nice, he warns Deadpool. You did a really great job out there, he tells Wade. They trade off taking down criminals, Deadpool keeps score of who handles the most and he treats the endeavor as a game. He is light hearted and cheery and always proud of his work.

 

“I can hog tie a motherfucker in 7 seconds flat, Spidey,” Deadpool brags as he places his foot on the neck of a criminal he just took down and poses for a selfie and continues is a heavy southern accent, “I'd 't swear that rodeo life was meant for me. I could break thems some records at roping cattle n steer.” He swings his arm around Spidey’s shoulder to snap a second selfie.

 

“You’d make a better rodeo clown, Wa—Deadpool,” Spider-Man replies, as he throws up a peace sign for the photo op. While he has him close he grabs Deadpool by the elbow to drag him up the side of the building away from the crime scene, or would-be crime scene. Deadpool grasps onto his arm like he might fall, even though Spider-Man’s super strength would never allow that. Deadpool snaps a third photo from this unique, dangling angle.

 

“I can hog tie someone just as fast, and I can do it from a distance,” Spider-Man reminds him.

 

As they reach the top of the building Spider-Man checks the time. He drops Deadpool on the roof and skips to the edge, ready to leave him for the night. Before he can say his good byes Deadpool speaks up.

 

“Spidey, wait. Is it,” he pauses, trying to find the right way to ask. Since Spider-Man promised to help him get over Madcap's residual madness, he has given him a lot of lessons and tips about being a hero. He has kind of adopted Spider-Man as his mentor for hero-ing. But he doesn’t know how to tell him, or if he will be mad that, “Is it bad if I keep taking merc jobs?”

 

“You want to keep being a mercenary?” Spider-Man asks quickly, turning back to Deadpool.

 

“Not really, but that’s my job, Spidey. I haven’t taken a job in like five weeks. I gotta make money,” Deadpool admits.

 

“It’s probably fine. As long as no one get hurts, I guess,” Spider-Man walks the length of the roof back to Deadpool, but he doesn't sound convinced.

 

“If I take this job, I’ll be gone for three days. And then I could pay for an apartment,” Deadpool says.

 

“Wait a minute," Spider-Man falters, "Are you homeless right now? Have you been homeless this whole time?” Spider-Man accuses him, his bug eyes getting bigger with every word.

 

“No,” Deadpool lies. The smaller hero seems mad at him and Deadpool doesn’t really know what he did. “I’m not a home owner, per say, but I’ve had a place to sleep every night.”

 

“Wade, why didn’t you tell me you didn’t have a place to stay?” Spider-Man asks.

 

“I just said I did have a place to stay,” Deadpool reiterates. Spider-Man stares at him and doesn’t respond, apparently waiting for a better explanation. Deadpool can’t exactly tell him what he had to do to find those empty houses, so he just continues talking.

 

“It’s fine! I’ll be able to pay for two houses after I take this job,” Deadpool says. The truth is that after patrolling he would just find the apartment of one of the criminals they sent to jail and sleep there. And if they had roommates, he would just sleep in a house that was a victim’s, the kind that were roped off with crime scene tape. It’s not that big a deal because he has slept in much worse places than those. Spider-Man still doesn’t seem satisfied by his answer.

 

“Look, baby boy,” Deadpool continues, “I’ll go to Jacksonville, complete the job. It’ll take three days to take the job, and another day for travel and stuff. Think you can handle these streets with out me?”

 

Spider-Man places his hand of Deadpool’s shoulder and replies, “I can. You go be Deadpool. See you in four days.”

 

The statement came out more like a promise, or a pact. Spidey won’t be mad at Deadpool for taking the mercenary job as long as he sees him being a hero again in four days. Or, thats how Deadpool interprets the conversation.

 

“I’ll miss you every waking moment, until then,” Deadpool calls out with added melodrama, placing his own hand over Spider-Man’s. “I’ll be seeing you, baby boy. Chaque nuit dans mes reves.”

 

Spider-Man’s laugh slips out from under his mask, “I don’t know what you just said. I’m going to assume it means ‘so long, partner.’ So, so long partner!”

 

He walks backwards away from Wade who follows his hand with his own until it is out of his reach and he just stands there dramatically with his arm out. The moonlight and the haze of New York are the only things lighting up this strange, suddenly romantic encounter. Deadpool poses like this until Spider-Man jumps from the rooftop and swings silently away.

 

~~~

 

Spider-Man swings away unsure if Wade was kidding or not about actually missing him and the French and stuff. He climbs up into his apartment window and rips off his mask. He takes out his phone and pulls up his translation app, suddenly extremely curious about the French. It doesn’t really matter he said, but Peter has realized that Wade doesn’t just ramble nothingness. Everything he says has some kind of purpose. Talking to Wade is like playing a game of Clue with someone who only speaks in riddles. 

 

Peter replays the conversation in his head but has no idea how to spell that phrase in French. Instead, he speaks the phrase into his phone and has it translate the audio. In a robotic voice, his phone tells him, “Every night in my dreams.”

 

Peter chuckles to himself, practically giggles, only now getting the joke.

 

_I’ll be seeing you, baby boy, every night in my dreams._

 

Peter tosses his phone aside, suddenly frustrated by the merc’s constant romantics. He can’t tell if they are jokes or not. They really get to Peter, and he likes when Wade acts like that to him. Peter said that he would be there to help Wade. He wants to guide him through whatever horrible mental torture he is in and this past week he did that. He regrets watching for four weeks before intervening.

 

He throws his mask at the wall and it thumps to the ground in an unsatisfying heap. He rips the rest of his suit and jumps into the shower, still cursing also himself for not even thinking about where Wade has been living and eating.

 

Wade makes him feel like nine emotions at the same time. He is constantly flattered, frustrated, and flabbergasted. Any continued alliteration would probably also apply, but Peter runs out of words at just three. There are more emotions there, he will probably cycle through all of them while winding down for the night.

 

The first night that Wade patrolled with him, after they finished he told Wade, “Now we just go home. Wait for tomorrow night. Spider-Man doesn’t work during the day, but I’ll meet you back here,” and he didn’t even think about Wade not having a place to go home. Wade just stood there until Peter swung out of eyesight. 

 

Peter never even thought to worry about Wade. He seems so capable when they fight crime. Wade always jokes and he _always_ talks and Peter tells him things about combat that he has learned over the years. He is capable, being homeless won’t get him hurt or in trouble. Peter tells himself that Wade can handle himself. That’s true, but he still feels bad. He started this trying to help Wade and he isn’t going to stop just because he now knows the real reason that Wade needed help. Needs help. He still does need help. Deadpool will likely never be a real hero, and Peter accepts this. Deadpool recognizes the rules of society, and he politely tea bags them as he steps over them. Spider-Man can’t turn Deadpool into something new, but he is making some progress. He is at least trying, and if nothing else, and his new combat techniques are a huge improvement from the shoot-first-stab-second-ask-questions-never approach.

 

Peter is showing him a new way of life and he did just let him go back to his old one. As Peter tugs on a pair of boxers and crawls into bed, he muddles over letting Wade take the mercenary job. Peter can’t pay Wade for his hero work in New York so he can’t tell him that he can’t go somewhere else to get paid. Staring at his ceiling does nothing to clear his head.

 

Wade chose mercenary work in the first place because he is good at it and because he is mutated into something that doesn’t let him live a normal life or get a normal job. If Peter’s mutation caused him to grow eight eyes and legs then he would probably be in the exact same situation as Wade. So, he decides as he flips over in his bed, Wade can be both a hero and mercenary. Being half a hero is better than not being a hero at all. Even as he lays by himself in his apartment his thoughts stay on Wade.

~~

The next night he doesn’t go out on patrol. He stares at his ceiling and wonders about Wade instead. More like, worries about Wade. He worries about how Wade makes him feel, too. Nine emotions blossoms into eighteen emotions branches into thirty six emotions. Peter hasn’t felt this kind of all consuming certainty in a while, but he is sure that he doesn’t hate Wade or Deadpool. Everybody else seems to do it just fine, but Peter actually likes the guy. Which is good, because he can’t stop thinking about him.

~~

He can’t take the next night off too, so when that time comes around he dons his suit and mask and takes on the city. The patrol is too quiet. The silence with out Wade talking to him feels heavy. It doesn’t effect his work, just his mood. God, he only spent a week working with the merc and without him now he punches a little too hard and talks a little too loudly. The patrol gets done, but he does miss having Wade to help him.

~~

When he crawls back through his window on the fourth night of Deadpool’s mission he looks forward to seeing Wade again tomorrow. He thought about texting him to see how it was going, but he didn’t want to seem like he was judging him about taking the job. But Peter revels in the feeling. It’s been so long since someone… He honestly hasn’t stopped thinking about Wade since he left. 

 

Actually, since he first saw him acting strange nearly six weeks ago he hasn’t stopped working out a way to help him. He wasn’t sure he could handle him, but he did. He wasn’t sure that he could help him, but he is. Now he is sure that he is what’s best for Wade. Peter has had six weeks to conclude that, but Wade has only had around two weeks. Wade has verbalized his own feelings a bunch of times, but whether or not he means it is the real question. He probably does. Deadpool made his attraction to Spider-Man quite clear. The real question if Wade would feel the same way about Peter. 

 

And there is only one way to find out.

 

Peter knows he will always be missing something, that deep down he will always feel a sense that he lost something, but Wade gives him a purpose, an interest in people again. Deadpool’s total apparent lack of humanity makes his random expressions of love even more meaningful to Peter.

 

This can’t wait.

 

Peter picks up his phone and dials Wade’s number. He waits in his bedroom, standing in just boxer shorts as the call connects.

 

“Spidey! I bought a new apartment! You gotta come see it!”

 

“Hey, Wade!… You want me to come over now?”

 

“YES, you have to see it!”

 

“Okay, text me the address. I’m on my way.”

 

He hangs up. That went a little different and a lot more streamlined than he expected. His phone buzzes in his hand as he receives the info to Wade’s knew place. He pulls on his mask but he doesn’t want to wear his suit. He pulls on a sweatshirt and a some ath-leisure pants, he wears his gloves and shoes because he needs the grip to swing there. He walks towards his window and falls right out of it into nothingness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoa nelly. we finally got past the madcap-pool and into some good ole spidey-pool. i hope that you enjoyed! also does deadpool even know french? either way i wanted a lil celine dion lyric drop in there because she invented romance.


	3. Things Move Quickly, No One Is Bothered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we talk about death at length, so tw there. i know that deadpool died in the previous chapters but we didn't talk about it so it was fine. this is more explicit. this is the finale!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a song called fair game by sia is the inspiration for the title of this work and is kind of the mechanism that wade and peter grow closer by. each time wade shares something with peter, he demands that peter play a fair game and share something back. anyways, i wanted to clarify why i keep saying, or making wade say it. enjoy, good luck.

Peter sits in a crouch at the window of Wade’s apartment. This side of town is not a good one. He actually spends a lot of time patrolling this area. He is familiar enough with the area to know that there is a Mexican restaurant near by, which he stopped by and now has a grocery bag full of delicious house warming gifts and stomach empty with uncertainty.

 

He reaches his hand out and knocks on the window. He probably should have just used the door because coming through the window is weird and—

 

Wade pulls the window open and leans out.

 

“At my damn window, just like Romeo! You have an image to keep up, baby boy!” He smiles at Peter through his own mask, but is dressed in civilian clothes too. His wide shoulders fill out his sweatshirt perfectly. The floral lettering design of the sweatshirt is stretched just tight enough across his chest, the lettering reads ‘The D is for Dick.’ Peter doesn’t ask.

 

“Hey, Wade!” Spider-Man smiles and leans into Wade so that as he steps inside his apartment he can simultaneously hug him. The larger man wraps his arms around Peter and leans down to surround him in a huge hug which Peter returns eagerly.

 

“I brought some house warming stuff,” Peter says, his voice muffled from Wade’s sweatshirt.

 

“Dude, you gotta look at this place,” Wade says, releasing his hold on Peter.

 

Peter looks past Wade into the small kitchen. He places his bag of food on the counter there and says, “Help yourself,” as he turns to take in the rest of the room.

 

There is one couch and one TV that is sitting on the floor. The door directly across from him leads to the bedroom and Peter can see one mattress sitting on the floor. The other door leads to a bathroom, also modestly decorated.

 

Through a mouth full of taco, one of the many tacos that Peter brought, Wade says, “I didn’t steal anything. So decor sucks. I don’t have shit to put in here.”

 

“Yeah, Wade, it’s modest,” Peter says. The excited way that Wade talked on the phone he would expected to enter a castle. “You met the neighbors yet?” he asks turning back to Wade, who has his mask rolled up to his nose.

 

“Nope, don’t plan to either. They will rest easier without knowing that they live next to Deadpool,” Wade replies honestly, “I’m gonna put a welcome mat underneath the window and hope they don’t notice me backflipping out of it.”

 

There isn’t any decoration at all. No framed photos, no aunt-gifted blankets, no anything that would make this place a home. It’s literally just a bare boned room. A place.

 

Peter grabs a taco out of the bag, unwraps it, and pulls his own mask to his nose. He stands on the opposite side of the counter as Wade. From here he can see the refrigerator and wonders if Wade has anything to drink in there. As he looks closer, he can see a single Hello Kitty fridge magnet holding up a single photograph. His vision is great so he can easily make out the two masked figures posing for selfie. It’s a photo that he and Wade had taken.

 

“Is that photo of us?” Peter asks in between bites, “on the fridge there?”

 

“Oh, yeah! Walgreens has a wireless printing thing for phones so when I went shopping it was, like too easy to get it printed out,” Wade responds, looking back at the fridge.

 

The pink magnet contrasting against the dark blues and reds of the photograph are the only decoration and source of color in the room. Peter expands on the idea and says, “That belongs on a full sized poster.”

 

Wade agrees. 

 

 

 

Over the rest of the tacos and some beer that Wade did have in the fridge, they continue to talk. Peter finds out that Wade printed out the photo while he was in Jacksonville as a reminder not to kill anyone. Peter’s heart nearly melted. He finds out that Wade hasn’t heard from the Ghost Of Madcap since he talked it over with Spidey in the gym, that his mission went well and he got paid in full, that he didn’t have to kill anyone to complete it either. All good things.

 

Wade continues in his story of the job, “but, you know, I’ve dealt with Taskmaster before so he was a fucking nightmare, as usual. Well, the more I deal with him the better I get at it, but seriously, if that dude comes to New York run the other way.”

 

“That bad?” Peter asks. He is too confident in his abilities to be actually afraid of this guy, so he is isn’t that sympathetic for Wade.

 

“That GOOD. The more you deal with him, the harder it gets to fight him. He’s got photographic reflexes. Yep, so he sees my sweet moves, and he suddenly can do those sweet moves. He has more tricks up his sleeve than Harry Potter wearing a pirate shirt. Now when we meet I don’t even do my moves. I just do every dance move I know at the same time,” Wade says.

 

“And that works?” Peter didn’t know that photographic reflexes were a thing. He swallows his food and leans in closer, suddenly more drawn into the story.

 

“Fuck no, it doesn’t work! Well, it worked for like a second. Me and Tasky are on good terms, really, we were just hired by opposing sides. Anyways, I can beat him in combat because even though homeboy knows all my moves, he doesn’t know when I’m going to use them. I’ve got unpredictability on my side. You should see Taskmaster’s impersonation of Thor, though. He mimics that godly swagger like he invented it. All those good times didn’t stop him from shooting me in the face though.”

 

Peter crushed the taco he was holding in his hand and somehow was simultaneously slack jawed and speaking, “You mean you died? He killed you?”

 

“That skull-fucker didn’t even hesitate,” Wade responds shaking his head. He pulls his mask the rest of the way off and sets it on the counter in front of him, “I did.”

 

“What do you mean? You hesitated?” Peter asks, totally enthralled by Wade’s story. He has never talked to someone about losing a fight like that, obviously, because that person would be dead.

 

“I had him pinned, literally sitting on top of him, and when I sheathed my dearest katana he shot me,” Wade says, he is not as enthused as he was when he started his story.

 

Peter realizes his reaction is not appropriate. He never gets to swap fight stories, so he really isn’t used to that in the first place, and he also never talked to someone who died in combat.

 

He changes his tone and says, “Oh, shit.”

 

Wade looks into his masked eyes, then back down at the counter, then back up to meet Peter’s gaze. Peter wishes he didn’t have to wear his own mask.

 

“Nothing quite like it. I’ve met Death. Whenever something extra bad happens and it takes a while to come back, she’ll come and talk to me. Most times though…” Wade trails off as he steps around the counter and around Peter. He crosses the room but instead of sitting on the couch he lays directly on the floor, face up. Peter follows and steps around him to sit on the couch.

 

“… Most times it’s just dark. And darkness. With the occasional pitch black,” Wade says to the ceiling. He chest grows as he sucks in a huge breath, then he lets it out slowly and audibly, but not really sighing.

 

“Does it hurt?” Peter asks as he leans on his own knees to get a better look at Wade on the floor. He traces the outline of Wade’s lips with his eyes. The outline is a little obscured by the scars, but still there.

 

“Waking up doesn’t. Coming back is fine. You take a huge gulp of air and you’re back on your feet. The first breath is like a wonderland, usually. But when I’m dying, I _am actually dying_ , so yes, it fucking hurts,” Wade says a little shortly.

 

“Sorry, stupid question,” Peter says, thinking quickly of his uncle and then ripping himself back into the present, “If you want to talk about it…”

 

Wade takes the invitation by just continuing, “Coming back is usually fine, and by that I mean not painful. It is extremely disorienting sometimes. I wake up as soon as it is physically possible, so sometimes not all the wires and are connected again. I have talked to a toaster at length about the impossibilities of the color purple. Toasters are great listeners, wouldn’t nail em as conversationalists though.”

 

“What happened when you woke up this time?” Peter asks.

 

“I don’t know, actually,” Wade says, squinting eyes and rubbing where his eye brows would be.

 

“This has been like, five things I have never thought about before,” Peter says when he find that he has nothing useful to comment.

 

“What, no great super hero advice from the Amazing Spider-Man?” Wade says, still staring at the ceiling. His tone isn’t mean or sneering, but it kind of feels that way.

 

“I, well. I’m glad you didn’t kill anyone. I am really sorry that someone killed you. This is kind of like a funeral right now,” Peter says, hoping the praise will hide his lack of insight.

 

It doesn’t, and Wade side eyes him from the floor.

 

Peter continues, still not really knowing what kind of life lesson could come out of getting shot in the face by an acquaintance, “I’m sorry I told you that the job was a good idea. I’m feeling pretty sorry right now as a whole, actually. There aren’t any life lessons to be learned from death.”

 

Wade sighs at this, so Peter continues talking down this path, “I can’t imagine the moral of that story. It doesn’t make you wiser or better or anything.”

 

“You’re telling me,” Wade sigh drifts up from the floor, “I’m sorry I went. I missed you.”

 

Peter smiles at the words, because even under the somber atmosphere it’s nice to hear that.

 

“Don’t waste your time on me. You’re already the voice inside my head,” Wade paces out the words, emphasizing every other syllable, then adding in a low, emotionless deadpan, “I miss you.”

 

“Is that a song? That first part is perfect iambic pentameter,” Peter says, ignoring the second half to avoid reading too much into the words.

 

Wade rolls his eyes and looks over at Peter, “You’re a nerd.”

 

“I missed you, too,” Peter says, embarrassed to toss around such honest words.

 

“You know what this is, Spidey?” Wade asks. Peter responds with a confused shake of his head.

 

“This is not a fair game,” Wade answers his own question.

 

“Oh,” Peter says, flashing back to their other conversation where Wade had laid his soul bare. Peter has to take and give.

 

“I wear my mask to protect my identity,” he offers, with his eyebrows raised, not that Wade could tell since he is wearing his mask.

 

“I wear mine because I’m horribly disfigured,” Wade quips back, not catching on.

 

Peter says, “Your face, Wade, is not that bad. I actually like seeing it.” He stares intently at the side of Wade’s head while working up enough courage and stupidity to pull this off.

 

“Yeah, I know you have. Because I trust you more than you trust me,” Wade challenges, not meeting Peter’s gaze. He probably gets what Peter is getting at, but maybe he doesn’t want to get his hopes up. Peter hopes that the weight of his stare will get Wade to return his gaze.

 

Wade speaks to the ceiling, “I trust you, Spidey.”

 

“I trust you more than I ever thought that I would,” Peter admits, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He can see Wade’s lips through the scars, but Wade continues to just look straight up at the ceiling.

 

“You know my name, my address, my life fucking story. I don’t know anything about you. Its not fair that I keep giving and all you do it take. This isn’t a fair game, Spidey,” he responds. Peter already thought all of that through.

 

But in the interest of fairness he wants Wade to admit that they have shared mostly equal amounts of themselves. “You know some stuff about me,” Spidey replies.

 

“I know you can take a punch. I know that when you dodge you do it by jumping up instead of left or right. I know that you hate my guns,” Deapool lists off, then continues, “I know you hate your job, I know you love your aunt, I know you believe in like, a greater humanity sense, but I don’t know who you are. I know that you are smarter than you let on.”

 

“I’m not playing games. I wanted to see you for a reason, okay?” Peter says, having heard enough. “I’m sure about it, I was sure about it, now I’m even more sure.”

 

“About what, Spidey?” Wade asks, looking over at Peter and finally meeting his eyes. Peter does trust Wade more than he ever thought he would. 

 

“Can you keep a secret?” Peter asks, lifting his hands to his neck.

 

“Are you actually going to show me your secret identity?” Wades squeaks as he sits up off the floor. He turns to Peter to give him is full attention.

 

Peter places his hands on each side of the mask. “I think so,” he laughs in excitement, or anxiety, or uncertainty.

 

No, he isn’t uncertain. Not about this.

 

Wades starts a countdown immediately, “Three. Two. One.”

 

~~~~

 

Wade watches as Spider-Man throws his masks to the side. And for some reason, Wade is afraid. Deadpool is likable from a distance, to some. He is funny and witty and skilled. His suit hugs his curves in just the right way, he is expressive behind his mask. Deadpool isn’t predictable but some people learn to like him for what he is. Spider-Man was one of those people. But Deadpool is shallow and anyone who looks deeper doesn’t like what they see. Because they see Wade Wilson.

 

Wade is insecure, damaged, unloved, unknown. And yet here he is, sitting cross legged on the floor in front of Spider-Man. Spider-Man didn’t stop helping him even after he saw what a horrible abyss Wade’s brain is. Not only that, but the second he got back in New York Spider-Man called him and now he is here. But it isn’t Spider-Man sitting on the couch in front of him. It’s the normal-est looking guy possible, brown hair, brown eyes, wearing sweat pants and a hoodie.

 

“My name is Peter Parker,” he says. His brown, actually hazel eyes flick back and forth between Wade’s. He has one hand in his hair, pulling it to reshape it after being stuck down in under his mask.

 

“Peter! Baby boy, you look, you just look so,” Wade says, taking in his youthful features and flawless complexion, “how old are you?”

 

“I’m 26, but I know, I found the fountain of youth, I guess,” Peter laughs.

 

Wade keeps asking questions, “Where do you live? Where are you from? What’s your day job?”

 

and Peter keeps answering them, “Queens. Queens. Photographer.”

 

and after all the ice breakers that Wade can think of he asks, “And what do you think of me?”

 

His question is only, like, one step away from being a simple ‘do you like me?’ 

 

He asks it anyways because the more Wade learns about Peter the more certain he is that he wants to try this. If only he knew what exactly he wants to attempt. Wade can think a few things he wants to try with Peter. 

 

He has laid his heart out bare in front of Peter a few times with reckless abandoned. To have it be reciprocated would be… it would probably prove to be too much honestly. He might actually die on the hardwood floor right here. Every time he sees Spider-Man he has accidentally confessed his undying love. To hear that even 1/4 of his own emotions were reciprocated in Peter would be too much.

 

“I’ve never met anyone like you, Wade,” Peter says, leaning into the words as he says them, “I watched you for a month deal with things I’ve never heard of before. And I don’t know what it was, but something you did this week convinced me to come here as Peter, not Spider-Man. I can’t explain what I think or what I feel.”

 

“Peter, I wanna try this. I wanna just go for it,” Wade says leaning forward onto his hands closing  some of the distance between them. The room around them is vibrating with the release of emotions.

 

“This is crazy,” Peter says, smiling wider as he stares into Wade’s excited face. Not just excited, straight up giddy.

 

“So am I, but this is actually terrifying,” Wade admits, pulls himself all the way up to the couch and sits directly in front of Peter, still on the floor.

 

“Of course I like you, Wade,” Peter says, catching up with the conversation and smiling even bigger as Wade gets closer to him.

 

Wade verbalizes “!?!!!?!!!!!” with a manly squeal that turns into a giggle. It is hard to be reserved when your dream man is confessing that he does in fact like you.

 

The room is lit up with electricity, like magic. Wade might float away if Peter doesn’t do something to ground him again. The glow over New York couldn’t compete with the glow of the smiles in the barren room. They didn’t have a plan, or a reason and it’s probably better this way.

 

Peter places a hand on the side of Wade’s cheek and rubs his thumb across the texture of his skin as he brings his face closer to his own. He lifts his chin and pulls Wade closer until their lips meet. All the nervous energy in the room is funneled into the kiss. Wade stops floating and sinks into the kiss, deepening it. 

 

Wade rises from the ground and sets himself next to Peter on the couch. Peter rises onto his knees in response, reluctant to loose his height advantage. Wade takes that opportunity to close his arms around Peter's waist and pull him into his chest. Peter leans into Wade to continue the kiss, growing hungrier with each passing second. Wade pulls Peter farther into his lap in response.

 

Wade breathlessly looks up at Peter, who is also catching his breath. Wade hears nothing and sees nothing beside Peter.

 

“Take your shirt off,” Peter commands. 

 

Wade laughs and half grunts in response. As soon as Wade moves his arms from around Peter’s sides he is already removing his shirt himself. Wade pulls Peter’s shirt off too and tosses it to the side and it falls. He doesn’t hear it land over his own heartbeat, it could be levitating there next to them and Wade wouldn’t have noticed from staring so intently at Peter. Before he can speak their lips meet again in a quick, too rushed kiss. Wade runs his hands over as much off the porcelain skin as he can and Peter does the same to Wade’s rougher, more textured, bumpy skin. Unlike braille, his skin doesn’t tell a story. The bumps are nonsensical, purposeless, and thoroughly hated. His skin is not loved, so Peter’s loving caress is entirely foreign. Even if it just lust, it is enough to make Wade forget every reservation he had about this.

 

It’s easy for Wade to forget. Too easy for him to get lost in his own story line, his own narrative. If this is a one and done deal, if this moment ends and is never meant to continue, that would be fine. It takes so little for him to fall in love, but he does it so sparingly that every time is as magical as the first time.

 

He doesn’t know what this is going to become, and never does Peter, but it’s is happening right now and thats all either of them care about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoa wait thats it? yep. i started this to make it about madcap, and the fall-in-love-for-no-reason-and-do-it-fast life that deadpool lives caught up with me and he was doing it again, so i had to finish what i started.

**Author's Note:**

> ugh, sorry to end it so abruptly! lemme know what you think. critiques or whatever are welcome! sorry for any mistakes as well, I'm the worst proof reader ever.


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